


Sparkly Clean

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a case, Dean suffers a mild head trauma, and by extension, amnesia. Castiel deals with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparkly Clean

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [destiel ficlet prompt challenge](http://destielficletchallenge.tumblr.com/post/104768552951/its-time-for-another-ficlet-challenge-d) on tumblr. My prompt words were peppermint and hospitals.

“We need to stop sending Sam on the grocery runs,” Dean grumbles, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

Intrigued, Castiel looks up from his morning paper. “Why?”

“He always buys the cinnamon flavoured crap whenever he gets the chance,” says Dean as he waves his toothbrush around, protruding foam everywhere. Castiel grimaces at the sight.

“Do you have a preference for toothpaste flavours?”

“Do I have a—” Dean faux-gasps, gripping his chest dramatically. “Cas, peppermint is the _classic_ for toothpaste. It’s the only flavour they should sell toothpaste in,” he says, the last bit yelled loud enough for Sam to hear.

“Actually, you used to chew aromatic sticks and leaves before the modern toothpaste was invented, so cinnamon and peppermint are both valid—”

“Pfft,” is the reply Castiel receives before Dean walks back to the washroom.

Sam soon pokes out from around the corner and says, “Thanks for defending my honour, Cas,” and walks away with a hum.

Castiel thinks that’s that, and goes back to his cup of coffee.

 

* * *

 

Castiel finds Dean sleeping on the couch in the afternoon, his neck stuck in an odd position and drool dried on the side of his cheek. Castiel carefully covers him with a blanket, drops a light kiss on his (other) cheek, and sits across from him.

Dean was successful in his feat of repressing the Mark of Cain’s urges few years ago, but he sometimes still struggles with the weight of it. The exhaustion he recently wears despite the amount of sleep he gets is alarming, but there isn’t much they can do other than let Dean obtain control over his body again. It frustrates Castiel; to watch Dean’s struggle, to not be able to do anything for him other than offer him small comforts.

Dean’s especially been having trouble sleeping the past few days—reoccurring nightmares, and he doesn’t say, but Castiel is sure they’re of his demonic days—and they’ve been laying low to give Dean some time to rest. He promises to relax, but Sam and Castiel both know they will soon be looking into cases for them to set out and start hunting again.

Perhaps some sort of… rejuvenation is called for. Dean has always communicated his support through food, so maybe Castiel can do the same for Dean. He thinks he’ll be able to manage that, although he hasn’t had the need to cook since he’s moved into the bunker with the Winchesters, and into Dean’s room. Still, Castiel feels a little less lost as he forms this plan.

This newfound confidence dwindles a little when he’s at the grocery store and standing in front of all the different kinds of ground meat, but there is no going back. He is determined, and he will cook for Dean tonight.

He walks through the personal hygiene isle as he makes his way back to the check-out, and backtracks at the sight of all the toothpastes on display. He takes the nearest tube of toothpaste marked as peppermint on its box, and tosses it into his cart. Part of him buys it to stop the probable bemoaning from Dean until they use up all the current toothpaste, but he also figures that if the cooking fails, he’ll at least have this to appease Dean with.

He also thinks it’ll have Dean smile that special smile when he’s extra pleased.

 

* * *

 

“What is all _this_?”

“Dinner,” replies Castiel, not taking the risk to look away as he carefully flips another patty. He lets out a little sigh of relief when he finds that this one is not as charred as the first one.

“You’re _cooking_?” Dean’s feet patter on the kitchen floor as he examines the hamburger ingredients laid out on the counter. “It’s not anybody’s birthday.”

“No.” Castiel leans into the arm which loops around his waist.

“Then what are you cooking us dinner for?”

Castiel shrugs with one shoulder. “I thought you could take the night off.”

Dean’s thumb which was absently rubbing at Castiel’s skin just below the hem of his t-shirt stops as he takes a pause to digest this. “Huh,” Dean lets out, and Castiel smiles at the feather light presses of Dean’s lips against his neck. “How many did you burn so far?”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean laughs softly. “D’you want some help?” he mumbles into Castiel’s neck.

“No,” Castiel replies firmly. “Rest, Dean.”

Dean steals a kiss on the lips before his warmth leaves Castiel’s side. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel sets the patty down and waits until the footsteps are far enough, and turns. “I picked up toothpaste for you,” he says to the back of Dean’s head.

Dean looks back with confusion. “We have toothpaste.”

“It’s peppermint.”

Ah, there it is. Dean lights up the entire room with his smile. “Love of my life,” he chimes, and Castiel puts on a new patty to cook, good mood circulating through his body.

 

* * *

 

The dinner goes well, and the Winchesters sing him praises throughout the meal. Dean gives him peppermint flavoured kisses every morning and every night, and Castiel thinks he prefers it to cinnamon, too.

 

* * *

 

A ghost. It was supposed to be a simple case after the few weeks they took off to ease back into the job, but Castiel has learned that there is no such thing as a simple case. A ghost case can be as dangerous as a group of demons for humans who are made so fragile, and now that Castiel has learned his lessons he would like Dean to stop laying unconscious on this hospital bed so they can take Dean home and let him take up more harmless hobbies than playing the bait such as gardening or perhaps crocheting.

“Internal bleeding doesn’t seem to be present so you’re good there, but he has a mild concussion. There shouldn’t be any long-term damage when he wakes up,” is what the doctor said, but Castiel can’t help hopelessly staring at Dean’s bruised face, trying to will Dean back to consciousness so they can be _sure_ he’s okay. There are times when he absolutely loathes being human, and this—the way his heart slams against his chest, the moment of vertigo when he heard the _thump_ behind him and turned around to see Dean lying unconscious on the floor, the agonizing _waiting_ while he feels helpless and directionless—is one of those times.

Sam weakly tells him to get some rest, but Castiel mutely refuses. He wants to be awake when Dean wakes up.

The longer he stares, the more uncertain he feels, and possibly more hysterical he becomes. What if the doctor was wrong? What if Dean never wakes up? What if Dean’s heart monitor was broken? What if this was all a ploy for someone with vendetta against him or the Winchesters to trap them in this hospital? Can he—

Dean’s finger twitches, and soon his eyes blink open. Both Sam and Castiel get up from their seats, hovering over him. The warmth of relief that strums through Castiel is quickly replaced by the uneasiness he feels at the sight of Dean’s indifferent eyes.

“Dean?” Sam calls carefully.

Dean coughs, and Sam hands him a cup of water. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“How are you, Dean?” Castiel asks, eyeing him warily. Something is off.

“Uh,” Dean looks down at his cup and winces. “My head kinda hurts. Everything hurts, actually. What the hell happened to me? Where am I?”

“We’re at the hospital,” Sam replies, glancing at Castiel with hesitancy. Sam senses the wrongness as well. “I know how much you hate hospitals, but you hit your head pretty bad when that ghost threw you, so we figured a trip couldn’t hurt. Just wanted to make sure, you know, that you’re okay.”

“Ghost?” Dean echoes, and something unpleasant churns in Castiel’s stomach.

“Remember how we figured this case was worth… checking out…” Sam stops with a frown when his explanation lights no recognition on Dean’s mildly confused scowl. “You don’t remember.”

“No,” Dean’s scowl deepens. “Who are you people, anyway?”

“Uh,” Sam trips on his words. He and Castiel exchange a quick glance. “Dean, you. You don’t know who we are?”

Dean’s blank expression is the only confirmation they need. Castiel tries to not shake.

 

* * *

 

“Amnesia isn’t the most... uncommon occurrence for mild head trauma.” The doctor chews on his lips for a little before he speaks again. “Let’s hope for the best. In any case, most cases of amnesia from head trauma are temporary.”

“You _said_ that Dean should be okay when he wakes up,” Castiel replies sharply. The doctor visibly shrinks, and he feels Sam cup his elbow gently. Castiel represses the urge to lash out.

“I suggest you stick around for at least a day,” the doctor says. “It can last from an hour to permanency, and we need to wait and see to have him properly diagnosed.”

“Is there any way that we can help at all?” Sam asks. “To jog his memories, or anything?”

The doctor hums. “Well, sensory stimulation has worked in some cases, so I suggest maybe photos, or food that he likes to frequent? Anything constant in his life, really. As long as he remembers one thing he’s forgotten, it shouldn’t be too hard for everything else to follow.”

The doctor leaves them, and Sam turns to Dean. “Okay. Uh. Do you remember anything at all so far?”

Dean’s eyes roam up and down Sam, and shrugs. “So who the hell are you?”

Sam’s lips thin, worry etched on his face. He’s obviously as displeased about the situation as Castiel is. “I’m Sam. Your brother.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Younger or older?”

For a split second Sam has a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Castiel chastises him. “ _Sam_.”

Sam coughs out a laugh. “Younger.”

“Huh.” Dean seems to process this, and before Castiel is ready, he turns to lock his eyes with Castiel. “Well?”

Castiel stares blankly.

“The hell are you?”

“Oh.” Dean stares at him, clearly unimpressed, and Castiel clears his throat. “I’m Castiel.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly. “Are you my brother too?”

“I’m—” what exactly is Castiel’s title? Dean’s lover? Boyfriend? They sounded foreign even in the form of thought. Dean’s partner, then? His best friend? All of the above, perhaps? He has always simply been Castiel, and that was all Dean had needed. “—your friend.”

Dean only gives a nod to acknowledge Castiel’s answer, and Sam shoots Castiel a sympathetic glance which he ignores. He doesn’t want Sam’s sympathy right now; he wants Dean to remember him, and for him to stop staring at him without recognition in his eyes, like he’s a complete stranger who has no place where he is.

He feels trapped in his own skin somehow, like the cosmos is punishing him for the past blessedly, mostly uneventful time they’ve had together—after Castiel had taken care of Heaven’s business, after he’d become completely human, after Dean had overcome his Mark of Cain urges—because he still has so much to atone for, and this happiness that he has with Dean and Sam—living in the bunker and hunting on their own terms—is probably not something he deserves, whose hands are covered in the blood of many.

He quietly excuses himself to the foyer, so he may recollect himself. This is not the time for him to be upset. Surely Dean is in a worse place than he is right now, not understanding who he is and how he’s where he is.

“Hey,” says Sam, and Castiel startles. He glares at Sam with his heart beating out of his chest. Sam scrunches up his nose. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…” Castiel sighs. Sam is likely distressed as well. Castiel needs to keep it together. “I apologize, Sam. You’re not to blame for all of this.”

Sam pats him on the back in consolation. “He’ll remember.”

Castiel sits down and tries to not feel defeated. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t, but—” Sam hesitates, and shakes his head. “We’ll find a way. We know more stuff than these people do, right?” It’s such a typical Sam comment that Castiel smiles despite everything. Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “Man, I _wish_ I could say this is the weirdest thing we’ve ever gone through.”

“I wish we could _do_ something,” Castiel replies.

Sam nods thoughtfully, a distant look on his face. “We have some pictures of us back at the bunker. We could start with those, see if he remembers anything.”

Castiel is glad that at least one of them has a plan. He feels like an emotional mess. He glances at the clock, and feels the weariness blanket over him. “That’s an excellent idea, but perhaps sleep is priority for all of us.” He rubs his eyes, which sting upon closing. “I’m not sure if I trust myself to drive right now,” he admits quietly.

Sam’s eyes widen for a split moment before he’s sympathetic again. “Yeah, ‘course, Cas. I’m pretty beat, and I bet Dean’s pretty confused right now, too.”

Castiel nods tiredly, and trod back to the room after Sam’s tall figure. They explain their plans to Dean, who seem to agree it’s the best course of action. Sam excuses himself to get ready for bed, and Castiel now sits in the room with Dean.

“Dude, quit doing that.”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“Quit—” Dean waves a finger around his face. “Quit staring.”

“Oh.” He mumbles out an apology, and averts his gaze elsewhere.

The sound of steady breathing from the two other sleeping patients in the room fills the void between him and Dean. Castiel finds himself fidgeting in his seat, and stops. He doesn’t know how to talk to this Dean, and in this moment does he realize how coddled he’s been by Dean since they’ve officiated their romantic relationship. This Dean doesn’t readily condone Castiel’s gaze, nor his presence in general.

He aches. It’s only been few hours since Dean’s been awake, and Castiel already finds himself longing for the usual casual intimacies that passed between them, and the love that he is spoiled with when he’s within Dean’s vicinity.

He dismisses these thoughts almost as instantaneously as he thinks them. Dean is still _Dean_. Just because he doesn’t know who Castiel is doesn’t mean he’s still not the man he loves at his core. The ways they interact have developed over the years, but it shouldn’t mean that Castiel doesn’t remember how they used to be when they were still learning how to be around each other.

More so, Dean is still his friend— _best_ friend, as Dean had called them—and if worst comes to worst, Castiel will learn how to be around this Dean. Dean is still alive at least, which by now is something he shouldn’t take for granted.

Still, Castiel is not sure how to best approach Dean now. Castiel is a new factor in Dean’s life right now, but Dean isn’t for Castiel, leaving them at a weird standpoint.

It’s when he thinks these thoughts that Dean interrupts them with a, “You lied.”

Castiel turns. “What do you mean?”

“You said that you’re my _friend_.”

“I am,” Castiel frowns.

Dean huffs. “C’mon, man, I’m not an idiot. Sure we’re friends, but I’m obviously more to you than _friends._ ”

Castiel presses his lips together and contemplates on what to say. “Why do you say that?”

Dean crinkles his nose. “The way you—I don’t know, man. Nobody with platonic feelings stares at someone’s face like you do.”

“It’s an old habit.”

Dean is quiet again, and Castiel thinks that’s the end of their conversation until Dean blurts, “You don’t look at Sam that way, though.”

Castiel dismisses his treacherous thoughts— _it’s an old habit to look your way, always_ —and wonders instead what the point of this conversation is. “What is your point, Dean?”

Dean stills, looks at his hands, and looks up again. “My point is, I don’t… Look, I don’t remember you.”

“I understand that,” Castiel replies dryly.

“So whatever you’re expecting out of me…” Dean waves his hands in the air, distraught. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t expect anything out of me,” Dean clarifies stiffly. “Whatever it is we used to have, I can’t give it to you, alright?”

“Of course I know that,” Castiel replies sharply, and his ferocity takes Dean by surprise. The sight gives Castiel a satisfying thrill down his spine. “What we used to have is not something I would take for granted, and I don’t wish for you to feel obligated. I would never—” Castiel struggles with his words. “I could never _request_ that from you, Dean.”

Dean blinks at Castiel with a frown set on his brows. “And you’re… okay with that?”

Castiel feels a shift in his chest, like something inside him is writhing in pain as it shrivels up.

“Just because you don’t love me back doesn’t mean I will stop loving you,” Castiel says steadily in a crescendo until he reaches an audible volume. He tries to keep his tone calm, and he thinks he even succeeds. “Even if you don’t recover your memories, I will still stay by your side as long as you will have me as your friend. After all, we’ve been friends long before we were… together.”

Dean’s jaw tightens. “What if I don’t want you to stay?”

“Then I won’t,” Castiel replies, his voice faltering only a little.

The words hang in the room, and Castiel patiently waits as Dean’s face screws up in an attempt to digest them. “I’m being a dick, and you’re just taking it,” he huffs. “Am I like this to you all the time, or what?”

Caught by surprise, Castiel breaks into a smile. “No, but you were what I’d call a… as you would say, a pain in my ass.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and then he groans. “Dude.”

Castiel huffs in amusement, and they’re back to having silence between them. It’s a little less heavy than the one from before, and Castiel is relieved to find that the friendly banter is something they can still have together.

He’s so relieved that he’s caught off guard when Dean’s quiet voice says, “You really love me.”

Castiel blinks up, and stares at Dean, who looks the most vulnerable Castiel’s seen since he’s woken up.

“Yes,” Castiel hushes, his voice cracking. He can feel Dean’s eyes study him, and he lets him.

He thinks Dean’s about to say something, but Sam walks in with a plastic bag in hand, and Castiel watches Dean physically refrain himself by leaning against his bed frame.

“Here, I got us some toothbrush from the front desk,” Sam says as he rummages through the bag, and tosses both of them a tiny toothbrush. “Shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash… and of course they forgot the toothpaste,” he says with frustration.

“I’ll get it,” Castiel says, practically jumping out of his seat for the chance to leave the room.

Castiel feels himself becoming more and more flustered as he walks down the hallway. He honestly wasn’t planning on saying all of _that_ as long as Dean didn’t remember, but Dean caught him off guard. There goes his plan to stay by Dean’s side as moral support and as nothing more or less. Spectacular.

He comes back to find Dean and Sam having a hushed conversation, no doubt with Sam filling Dean on basic information about Dean’s self. Castiel mostly tries to avoid Dean’s eyes while he hands him his toothpaste, and bolts out of the room again to the washroom before Dean can get another word in. Underneath the bright bathroom lights, Castiel can practically see the flush across his face. How embarrassing.

Castiel stares at himself in the mirror, absently taking note of the taste of peppermint in his mouth as he brushes his teeth. He thinks of Dean’s peppermint good night kisses, and how he won’t be getting one tonight—maybe next day too, and maybe for years. Maybe never. 

It leaves him a little bitter, but perhaps they could make a good situation out of this potentially bad one. If Dean doesn’t remember them—if this is permanent—maybe Sam and Castiel can help Dean settle elsewhere, and he could start a new life without all the… baggage he’s claimed through his life. Now that Dean’s body’s accustomed enough to the Mark of Cain, Dean would be able to lead a new life without what it represents. Dean and Sam will always have time to relearn each other and be brothers again.

As for Castiel… should Dean ever finds someone else to be happy with, then so be it. As he’s told Dean, Castiel would never expect Dean to feel obligated, or forbid it, _responsible_ for him. As long as Dean is happy with his decisions, Castiel will do nothing to stop him, for Dean’s happiness is what he ultimately wishes for.

The door swings open and someone settles beside him—presumably to get ready for bed as well. Previously lost in his own thoughts, Castiel startles when he finds Dean’s reflection besides his own on the mirror, and resolutely keeps on brushing. From the corner of his eyes he watches as Dean unscrews the top of the tiny tube of toothpaste, pointedly not looking at Castiel.

Dean clears his throat, and Castiel turns his focus to the side of Dean’s face. Dean is still not looking at him, but he pursues his lips and speaks to his toothbrush, a glob of toothpaste sitting neatly on top. “I’ll try to remember.”

Castiel thinks back to all the new possibilities this situation has opened up for Dean, and is suddenly reluctant to support Dean’s newfound enthusiasm. It feels selfish to want Dean to want his old life back, but if Dean wants to remember, then surely it’s okay to support that decision as well? “Alright.”

It must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because Dean now whips his head to look back with frustration. “I mean, I’ll try to remember _you_. Sam too, but like—” Dean rubs the back of his neck, and Castiel’s lips quirk involuntarily at the sight. Some habits never seem to change, no matter how much Dean forgets.

“Nevermind,” Dean mutters and shoves the toothbrush in his mouth. Castiel goes back to brushing his teeth as well, albeit a little disappointed that he didn’t understand whatever it is that Dean was trying to say.

Castiel is in the midst of rinsing when he realizes that Dean hasn’t moved since he’s stuck the toothbrush in his mouth. Puzzled, Castiel glances at him, still completely frozen where he stands, his eyes wide and his mouth a little parted.

Dean notices Castiel looking at him, and Castiel is about to apologize for staring at him again when Dean takes the toothbrush out of his mouth. Castiel cocks his head in confusion, and spits the water out to speak. “Dean?”

“Cas—” Dean says with recognition in his voice and Castiel belatedly realizes that Dean hasn’t said his name once in his amnesiac state. “Cas, _shit_ —”

There is a clatter against the bathroom tiles and Dean is swearing up a storm and there are hands touching his arms and a set of arms bracing him and Castiel takes a moment to understand what’s going on—

—until he’s reaching and reaching and wrapping his arms around him and strengthens his grip tighter and tighter until he’s absolutely sure that he won’t disappear into thin air like this was some messed up dream. “ _Dean_.”

“Hey,” Dean is carding his fingers through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel closes his eyes against Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, _fuck_ , I’m so fucking sorry—”

“Not your fault,” Castiel mumbles into Dean’s shirt, burrowing his face further into his warmth. Dean kisses the top of his head, his cheeks, his lips, and Castiel basks in every single one of them, in the taste of peppermint and Dean.

After Castiel has composed himself a bit and willed himself to pull away, he can’t help but ask, “But—how?”

Dean glances at the tube of toothpaste sitting on the counter, and Castiel huffs. “The _toothpaste_?”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever works, works. You’re not complaining, are you?”

“Of course not.” Details can come later. For now, he will allow himself to rejoice in Dean’s recovery. He decides that encasing Dean against the sink counter with his arms and kissing him again is a very good way of doing this. Dean makes an appreciative noise and eagerly kisses back, his enthusiasm sending another pulse of happiness through Castiel’s body.

“We should probably go tell Sam,” Dean admits after few minutes. “And I want out of here.”

Castiel nods, taking one last moment for himself to soak up Dean’s presence before he takes him by his hand and squeezes. “No more cases.”

Almost instantly, a whine rises from Dean. “Cas, I’m not a _baby_ —”

“No more cases, at least for a little while,” Castiel replies firmly. “And definitely _no_ ghosts.”

He knows he’s won when Dean’s face soften and squeezes his hand back a little. “Yeah, alright,” Dean says nonchalantly, the response as playful as it is sincere.

Later Castiel will hear about how the taste of peppermint jogged Dean’s memories of the day Castiel had brought back toothpaste just for him, and Castiel will hold him especially close that night, peppering him with his own peppermint flavoured kisses. For now, Castiel concentrates on Sam’s laughter and Dean’s hand in his own, and the way the impala rumbles under him with his head resting against Dean’s shoulder as they head back home together.

He is allowed this, and he is thankful.


End file.
